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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24998284">Becoming Esther Babington</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSally/pseuds/MissSally'>MissSally</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanditon (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:02:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24998284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSally/pseuds/MissSally</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>‘It is better to be loved in a marriage than love.’ But Esther did love her husband, and strongly suspected she was falling gloriously, desperately in love with him</p><p>‘You’re a Denham, we never apologise.’ But Esther was a Babington now</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lord Babington/Esther Denham</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Becoming Esther Babington</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To Esther’s surprise, beyond telling her which dressmaker to choose and paying the bills, Lady Denham left all the decisions about Esther’s bridal gown and trousseau to her.</p><p> </p><p>Except for one.</p><p> </p><p>‘Now, Esther,’ said Lady Denham as Esther emerged from the dressmaker’s private area used for fittings and measurements. ‘If you are sure you have all the dresses, coats and hats you require? Time you considered what you will be wearing for the wedding night.’ She cast a critical eye over a shelf stacked with bolts of delicate laces and fine cottons.</p><p> </p><p>‘If my understanding is correct Aunt,’ Esther spoke slowly to give herself time to adopt a dismissive tone in the face of such an unexpected question, even by her Aunt’s standards. ‘I would not have thought such a consideration was necessary.’</p><p> </p><p>Do not be vulgar, Esther,’ Lady Denham snapped, fixing her with a sharp-eyed glare. ‘It is not becoming.’ Esther calmly met her gaze and then collected her gloves from the chaise.</p><p> </p><p>‘Shall we go?’ she asked.</p><p> </p><p>‘I am serious, Esther,’ Lady Denham turned back to the shelf and began to examine the lace more closely. ‘Lord Babington clearly worships you, so you need not worry about having to encourage him.’ Having clearly dismissed the lace as an appropriate choice, Lady Denham turned to face Esther once more with an expectant look on her face. ‘Well? You cannot present yourself to him on your wedding night in your corset, chemise and hair in paper curls.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I will be sure to choose something next time I visit, Aunt,’ Esther said airily, forcing herself to appear to remain unflustered.</p><p> </p><p>‘But we are here now,’ Lady Denham said pleasantly. ‘We have Mrs Evershaw’s undivided attention and impeccable taste for another quarter hour yet.’ The dressmaker, busily making notes from the fitting, smiled at Esther from her desk in the corner. Esther sighed and looked away. ‘Esther!’ Lady Denham continued. ‘You are about to take on the role you have been schooled for since birth, that of wife to a Lord and mother to his heirs. You must always be appropriately attired and for all occasions. You are not his mistress.’</p><p> </p><p><em>‘Aunt!</em>,’ Esther said sharply.</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, do not worry,’ Lady Denham was completely unconcerned that Mrs Evershaw could doubtless hear every word. ‘There is some enjoyment to be found, but you must set a precedent from the first. ‘Now,’ she said patting the bolts of cotton, her choice made, ‘choose something. Or would you like me to do it?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I am sure I can manage,’ Esther said through gritted teeth.</p><p> </p><p>Esther did not recall what she had chosen. So intent had she been not to let Lady Denham see how her increasingly heated thoughts of her wedding night would bring a flush to her cheeks, Esther had allowed herself to be guided almost entirely by Mrs Evershaw. It was only when items began to arrive at Sanditon House that she began to realise she may have made a mistake. By not being as specific with Mrs Evershaw as she had been with all other items, Esther found herself confronted with a nightshift and gown that were a fuss of ribbon and frill and embellishment.</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh! That is so pretty Esther!’ Lady Denham smiled contentedly as she touched the ribbons that fastened the long gown. ‘Lord Babington will be pleased with you.’</p><p> </p><p>Esther hummed non-committedly and busied herself with the other items.</p><p> </p><p>Pretty. </p><p> </p><p>Each time Esther saw the shift and gown she felt uneasy. Her Aunt was married twice and thought it was appropriate. Mrs Evershaw was married, and she had made it so it must be appropriate. But was <em>this</em> what a wife was to her husband? Pretty?</p><p> </p><p>Esther had never felt pretty, never wanted to be seen as pretty. Pretty was almost a nothing, soft, light, fleeting. Weak. Submissive. Esther had always chosen clothes that gave her strength, helped her move through a hostile world with confidence. Simple lines but strong, bold details and colour. Never pretty.</p><p> </p><p>Babington did not make her feel pretty. He made her feel loved, desired, wanted. Powerful. Free. Recently, the intensity with which he looked at her sometimes sent a heat flashing through her that she did not fully understand. But she knew loved him, had realised with growing certainty, and told him a few weeks ago. Babington had smiled and slowly moved towards her until her back had been pressed against the wall and he had kissed her. And <em>kissed </em>her. And she had pulled him closer to her and wondered whether this is what it would be like to catch on fire.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The young maid who came to help Esther out of her dress and corset on the night of the wedding only added to Esther’s uncertainty.</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, Lady Babington!’ the girl sighed as she caught sight of the items. ‘I’ve never seen anything so pretty!’</p><p> </p><p>Esther forced herself to smile.</p><p> </p><p>The maid had left her now, and Esther stood in front of the strange mirror, attempting to match her reflection with what she felt.</p><p> </p><p>‘I love you,’ she had murmured against Babington’s lips as he had kissed her outside the church today. He had smiled and bent to kiss her again, pulling her closer to him. Esther wished she could have just kept her wedding dress on instead of undertaking this . . . preparation. She closed her eyes thinking of what it would be to have had Babington taking the veil and tiara from her hair, the dress from her body. Could it not be like that? Would she always have to dress like this?</p><p> </p><p>The click as the door opened made Esther startle slightly and she opened her eyes to see Babington in the doorway between his chamber and hers. He was still half dressed in breeches, shirt and waistcoat, but cravat-less, with waistcoat and shirt cuffs unbuttoned and so close to how Esther had just seen him in her mind that she had to look away for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>‘Esther,’ Babington’s voice was quiet, his eyes sweeping over her as she came towards him. Her husband, who was looking at her now with such unguarded love and desire. But Esther suddenly found herself unsure, felt less like herself than she had in months, years. Over the past few weeks, Esther had found confidence in Babington, his surety of emotion empowering hers. But as a wife how was she to behave?</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>‘You are not his mistress.’</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Babington very gently pressed his lips to hers and Esther tried to push away her Aunt’s words, Mrs Evershaw’s knowing glances and the delight the young maid had shown.</p><p> </p><p>Pretty.</p><p> </p><p>The kiss deepened but instead of feeling the joy of being on the cusp of an unknown, Esther found herself incapable of letting go. She needed control, she needed to hide her uncertainty if she were to assume a role that she did not know.</p><p> </p><p>She felt the moment Babington sensed the change in her.</p><p> </p><p>‘Esther?’ Babington pulled away and looked at her. The concern in his eyes almost broke her, but her walls had come up with alarming speed and she found she could not go back.</p><p> </p><p>‘Babington,’ and Esther tried to make her voice soft, her mouth smile. But it was there before she could stop it. The coldness, the distance of the woman who had looked at the world with disdain from Denham Place. It was that woman who watched now as the light seemed to go from the man in front of her, listened as his breath caught in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>Babington suddenly felt as though the world had shifted backwards, Esther had not looked at him like that in months. Esther, who had married him today. Esther, who had leant against him in the carriage as he put his arm around her and she had turned towards him and gently kissed him again and again and again. Esther, who had smiled as he handed her down from the carriage and then laughed as he lifted her into his arms to carry her in the house. Who had clasped his hand in both of hers as they came upstairs, her cheek resting on his arm. Who had pressed her lips to his for one quick last kiss after a flurry of kisses as the maid knocked at the door to come and help her undress.  </p><p> </p><p>What had happened? Suddenly so passive, removed.</p><p> </p><p>‘Not like this, Esther,’ Babington moved away from her slightly. He knew he was not thinking clearly enough to be sure he could do or say the right thing. ‘I . . ‘ and he stopped himself from saying <em>want</em> just in time. He wanted her, but not like this. Never like this, with that coldness in her eyes. ‘I love you,’ he leaned down and chastely kissed her forehead. ‘I love you,’ he whispered and placed a kiss on the tip her nose before stepping away again to look at her. Esther of Denham Place looked back at him. He smiled a little sadly and took both her hands. ‘Tomorrow, I will show you the estate,’ Babington was searching her expression for something, anything. ‘We can . . . we will have the day together. I will leave you to your sleep now.’</p><p> </p><p>He was gone, the door closing behind him. Esther’s hands still warm from his touch. She stood absolutely still for several moments, feeling the anger building up inside her until she felt she could scream with it.</p><p> </p><p>How <em>dare</em> she allow the world to inflict this pretence on her.</p><p> </p><p>How <em>could </em>she do that to him?</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, choking back a sob of white-hot rage, Esther began pulling at the endless ribbons and bows and frills encasing her. She did not care if she tore the garments to shreds, almost <em>hoping</em> to destroy them in her haste to remove this foolish stupid costume and all that went with it. Turning back to the mirror, naked now, she pulled her shaking fingers through her hair that had been so carefully arranged by the maid into elegant waves similar to her Denham Place days. Ringlet after ringlet tumbled free, her hands working rapidly until an uneven mass of curls fell around her shoulders. Now her reflection in the mirror was herself, truly and without pretence.</p><p> </p><p><em>‘It is better to be loved in a marriage than love.’ </em>But Esther did love her husband, and strongly suspected she was falling gloriously, desperately in love with him</p><p> </p><p><em>‘You’re a Denham, we never apologise.’ </em>But Esther was a Babington now</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Babington sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He had not bothered to relight the candles nor pull the shutters and so the room was lit by cold, pale moonlight flooding in through the windows in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>What had he expected? But surely some emotion, any emotion would have been preferable to that passivity? But what if it had masked a fear?</p><p> </p><p>Babington groaned softly, despairingly, but forced himself to think the unthinkable.  What if it had masked a fear of him?</p><p> </p><p>Esther must know he would never, could never . . .   She <em>must </em>know? Must know that he would have been happy to merely sleep in the same room as her if she would have allowed. What if she didn’t know and just assumed he would . . . take? She <em>must </em>know? He scratched his hands harshly over his head and then stood up, trying to calm his rapid thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t work.</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, Babington took off his waistcoat and slipped the braces from his shoulders. He would not sleep tonight, he was certain of that, but he may as well lie awake in fresh linens. Besides, it felt like some sort of cruel joke to still be wearing the clothes he had been married in. He untucked his shirt and was just about to pull it over his head when he heard the door that connected his room with Esther’s click. He turned towards it in disbelief as Esther slipped through it.</p><p> </p><p>In all his dreams Babington had never dared imagine Esther coming to him looking like this. Those carefully arranged curls were now tumbling in individual strands. The elaborate nightgown had been replaced by a simple, plain chemise made almost sheer where the light from the window beside her fell on it, the shape and shadows of her body clearly visible. But it was the way she was looking at him now that truly caught his breath.</p><p> </p><p>‘I love you,’ Esther said softly. She quietly shut the door behind her and took a step towards him, ‘and I’m sorry.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Esther, no,’ Babington replied so quickly, Esther had barely finished speaking. He closed the distance between them, anxious not to lose this chance to explain himself. He stopped as her reached her, ensuring he did not touch her. ‘No, don’t, please don’t feel you need to . . .’ but Esther reached out and, never taking her eyes off his, placed her hand against his chest, rendering him incapable of words for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>He closed his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>She could feel his heart pounding.</p><p> </p><p>Meeting her gaze again, Babington took a deep breath and very gently lifted his hand as though to stroke her cheek but then paused and instead placed it over hers on his chest. ‘Esther,’ he whispered, ‘what can I do? Tell me. Anything. I am yours to command only please, please do not hide yourself from me, not like that.’</p><p> </p><p>Esther slipped her hand from under Babington’s but stopped him before he could move it away. Gently, she stepped forward and guided his hand to rest against her cheek where he had hesitated moments before. She tilted her head into his palm, lifting her chin as she did so, moving her lips closer to his. Now Esther began to see that light beginning burn in him again. That sure intensity of his that gave her so much strength now provided the confidence she needed to give in to her maelstrom of emotions.</p><p> </p><p><em>This </em>is what it was to catch on fire. To burn as Esther Babington.</p><p> </p><p>‘Take me to bed, husband.’  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have trawled though the tv series as I don't think I've got those quotes about being the one to be loved and not apologising quite right, sorry! Will update when I find them.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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